Who Teaches Blasphemy?

Text: Titus 2:1-15

So how does a young minister teach those who are older than he how to behave and who and what to teach? Titus must have faced this dilemma during his ministry, because Paul took the time to outline a number of things Titus needed to cover. First, he would need to take care that he, himself was on solid ground. Paul told him to "speak the things which become sound doctrine."

Next, Paul addressed what Titus should teach older men. They were to be "sober, [vigilant,] grave, temperate, sound in faith, in charity, in patience."

Then, saying aged women were to have a "likewise" attitude, [like that required of aged men,] Paul honed in on the specifics Titus was to teach "mothers" in the Church. In reality, these were grandmothers and elder saints, some of which were widows.

But at the root of it all, everyone is "older" than someone else. We all have the responsibility to teach those who are coming along behind us, physically and/or spiritually. The points Paul outlined form the parameters in which these women had the right, duty, and privelege of teaching...

By their own behavior...

• as becometh holiness
• not false accusers
• not given to much wine
• teachers of good things

They are to teach younger women...

• to be sober
• to love their husbands
• to love their children
• to be discreet
• chaste
• keepers at home
• good
• obedient to their own husbands

Why? "...that the Word of God be not blasphemed!" Paul goes on to give detailed instructions concerning what Titus should teach young men and servants. In each of these groups, there is the underlying theme of the grace of God through which He gave Himself for us and redeemed us from all our iniquity. Thus, it is our duty to live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world.

In Romans 2:21-24, Paul spoke directly to teachers of the law with this caution...

Whatever you teach others, you need to teach yourself!

• If you teach stealing is wrong - why would you steal?
• If you teach adultery is wrong - why would you commit adultery?
• If you abhor idols - why would you commit sacrilige?
• You say you know the law - why do you break the law? By doing so, you dishonor God!

The result of this inconsistency is found in verse 24, "For the Name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles through you." What an indictment! [Note: in this sense, "blaspheme" means to speak or hold in disrespect; to speak evil of, slander or abuse.]

All around us, people are watching our life and comparing it with what we say. For our words to bear weight, they must be backed up by the way we live. To believers and unbelievers alike, every teacher; be it young or old, he or she, Jew or Gentile, bond or free; has the reponsibility to be an example. Anything else brings reproach upon the Name of Christ and His Bride - the Church, and is not profitable for anyone involved.

Mother's Day Blessings

Happy Mother's Day!

The Prodigal's Mother

Of the prodigal’s tale, we all are aware,
Stubborn, he wanted to manage his share;
So he took it and headed off into the sun,
Determined to have his share of fun.

We hear how he partied away all he had,
Rumors were flowing and all were bad;
The father kept watch as the months wore on,
Only love could rescue his wayward son.

We hear of his downfall, the ruins of sin,
We hear of the pigpen he found himself in;
We hear of the change that began in his heart,
How he thought of home and the servant’s part.

We hear of his journey and father’s delight
We hear sounds of joy as they ring in the night;
Brother’s envy and spite make our spirits groan,
But through it all – we’re glad he’s home.

But what of his mother? We never do hear,
Yet surely her presence was always near;
Her baby was lost – her precious son,
She must have wept and prayed, undone.

In dark, night hours, while others slept,
A tear-stained vigil his mother kept;
She groaned and travailed more deep than at birth,
For the wayward one’s soul had yet greater worth.

She waited and hoped in the promise of God,
Reminding, abiding, her faith walked dry-shod;
Through oceans of tears, through doubts and fear,
Come what may - though it took many a year.

And then, when the promise finally did arrive,
Imagine the sparkle of joy in her eye;
Hustling, bustling in a glorious dither,
The servants all rushing hither and thither.

Mama, in high gear, was doing her best,
Preparing a fabulous celebration fest;
All her boy’s favorite cookies and cake,
Were piled high and waiting for more to bake.

But right in the midst of the joyful preparation,
Mama steals off for a quiet conversation –
With the One who had shared her burden and grief,
“He’s home now, Lord, Oh, what blessed relief!”

By Marjorie Kinnee

Note: I took the liberty of adding a possibility to this age-old story in honor of Mothers Day and in tribute to mothers of wayward children. They carry a special burden, full of sorrow, travail and pleading intercession. But they partner with the One whose heart is touched and is able to work, even in the darkest of situations. What He's done for others - He'll do for you! "Now unto Him who is able to do exceeding, abundantly above all we can ask or think...", be all the glory and honor and power and dominion. In Jesus' Name!

Shared Sorrow...

A "Hmm..." moment regarding recent disasters around the globe.

China doesn’t want workers, just money and machinery. Politicians assure everyone that they are doing everything they can; complete with photo-ops, hugs and televised speeches, but the magnitude of the earthquake and the sheer quantities of victims stagger the mind and belie the words. Exhausted relief workers sit by the sides of roads trying to catch their breath before heading on into more carnage. People, too afraid to sleep in buildings, choose to sleep on the ground out in the open as the earth continues to rumble beneath their feet. The media is filled with images of parents weeping over their dead children. For many, it’s their only child, (due to governmental birth control regulations). Mothers Day just past, the photos are a striking reminder that life is fragile and tragedy can transform a normal day into continual temblors of grief. Face after face, each one different, yet each one sharing a common denominator, sorrow. So many faces, so much distress, it numbs the mind... and the numbers keep climbing.

The rulers of Myanmar (Burma) claim they don’t need help. Ask the Burmese people whether they need help as thousands swell the cyclone’s toll. Yet with frustrated hand-wringing and "for shaming," the world sits on the sidelines, plane and boatloads of help at the ready, waiting for permission to enter, while millions huddle in misery out in the open or in temporary shelters, enduring heat and the stench of dead bodies all across the landscape. Disease opens her mouth to swallow the residue. Under pouring rain and sodden skies, with the threat of a second cyclone looming, they sit exposed and defenseless, an unwilling sacrifice to implacable gods. Their leaders spirit away the trickle of relief they allow into the country, while doling out rotten rice to a fraction of those who so desperately need nourishing food. Words from long ago echo across time, "Is it nothing to you, all ye who pass by?"

Throughout, there have been reports of bravery, courage and selflessness. It is right and proper that such be recognized, but when and wherever these stories are told, you can be sure there is an even greater number of unsung heroes. And in their lives and actions the world sees the truth of the words, "Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for a friend."

Thus it is that in the midst of horrendous suffering and chaos, the gold in the human spirit gleams brightest. Spurred on by inner strength beyond their own, they plunge forward into the unknown intent on saving, helping, rescuing, doing what they can to bring hope and light into troublesome times and events. It was this spirit that sent the NY firemen into the World Trade Towers. It was this spirit that sent one lone man in his own boat into the flood waters of Katrina's aftermath to rescue hundreds who were stranded on rooftops and upper floors. It was this spirit that urged the good Samaritan to forget about his own safety and minister to the needs of the wounded man laying by the side of the road. We are not given his name, just his nationality. But he not only ministered on the spot, he also put himself out to take the wounded man to further help and provided for the man’s continued care when duty called him on. That Samaritan’s actions became an illustrated sermon in answer to the question, "Who is my neighbor?"

"Love your neighbor as yourself" – strong words, convicting words, words to remember, but not only in times of tragedy. The hardest part of loving your neighbor as yourself is constancy – becoming the illustrated sermon throughout your life. One thing is sure. Those who make a practice of caring and sharing in the lives of others and who consider others’ needs ahead of their own are legitimate heroes in anyone’s book. When it comes to character – the man or woman, boy or girl who fleshes out this commandment day in and day out far surpasses the shallow, self-centered attention grabbers of this world. And in the end, when we all give an account, this kind of gold, where’re it may be found, can stand the closest of inspections.

From One Mom to Another...
(A Tribute to Mothers)

We measure our rewards in snuggles and hugs and gladsome moments. But mothering is not only here and now. Today's joys (and sorrows) are the chrysalis of what is yet to be...

Happy Mother's Day!

P.S. Your labor of love is not in vain in the Lord.

I Remember Mama . . .

I am not able to come to this time of year without thinking of my mother. Transplanted by marriage to my father (on January 15, 1944) from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan to the North Detroit suburbs, mama was the quintessential Christian lady. She loved Bible truth and lived it all her days. Mama always knew what was the right thing. Her advice was wise and seasoned with experiences that had taught her how to be steady and dependable.

Canadian prairie winters, with frigid cold, biting wind and all the bundling up necessary in temperatures way below zero could not have been easy. But mama's memories of her childhood were full of her older brother and sisters. Grandpa was an engineer on the Canadian National Railroad (in the days of steam engines,) and was away from home often as he took trains full of people and freight from one side of the country to the other. Mama's stories included their Chinese neighbor, Mrs. Kwong, who had many children, the boys at school who teased her and her girlhood chums. As a result of the lack of iodine in her diet, mama developed a goiter which required surgery. In those days, the anesthesia was ether. The surgery attendant only pulled the surgical cap over her skull, leaving most of mama's beautiful, long hair exposed. The ether turned the exposed hair white and brittle, so it had to be cut. Whenever she told the story, mama mourned over the loss but she would rejoice when she got to the part where it all grew back thicker and longer than before.

It was about this same time that she first met Charles C. Kirby, his wife, Nola, and their daughters, Autumn and Vaviel. They were accompanied by his brother and wife, (U. L. and Floy Kirby) whom mama called, "Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy." In later years, Bro. Kirby would say that the entire Canadian sojourn was an attempt to run from the call of God. Autumn's death was the catalyst that sent both Kirby brothers back to the States. Bro. & Sis. Kirby and Vaviel settled in the Royal Oak area. Their son, "Chassie," was born soon afterwards. Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy settled in Paragould, Arkansas. (Mama corresponded with Aunt Floy, until Floy's death in the 70's.) In 1942, Bro. Kirby invited mama to come and visit in Royal Oak. While she was there, he sent Sis. Kirby and mama to visit Uncle Dutch and Aunt Floy in Paragould - and wrote my dad, who was serving in the army air corps in Malden, Missouri, suggesting that he make his way to Arkansas to meet the young lady who was traveling with Sis. Kirby. The rest, as they say, is history. Mama and daddy corresponded for a time - became engaged - and were married on January 15, 1944. Mama went with him to Missouri for a time. But once daddy received his overseas assignment, she returned to Royal Oak, while he served in Hawaii, Guam and Okinawa until 1945, when he was honorably discharged at the end of World War II.

But I've gotten ahead of myself - let's go back to Saskatoon . . .

One summer, while still in her early teens, mama got permission (from her pastor and the local school board,) to hold "protracted meetings" out in a country schoolhouse. When the summer was over, a number of candidates were ready for baptism.

During her high school years, mama played the piano for extended revival meetings for the home church in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan – school during the day, revival at night, altar work until there were no more seekers, home to bed and back to school the next morning – this went on for several weeks. Mama rejoiced in how the Lord blessed and anointed souls, the ministry, the services, her playing and her school work; in fact, He blessed everything throughout the revival - she lacked nothing, not even sleep, because even her rest was refreshing!

In her early twenties, mama served as a lady evangelist in Ontario. During World War II, many of the Canadian pastors were drafted into military service. This left their wives to care for the churches. Rev. Frank Small of Winnipeg, Manitoba saw a need and issued “Christian Worker’s Licenses” to a number of young women who traveled throughout Canada, preaching the gospel, holding children’s revivals and generally making themselves useful wherever and whenever they could. Mama was one of these young ladies. She was sent to Eastern Ontario. Her stories and adventures were thrilling – peppered with names from Canadian Pentecostal history; Frank Small, R. E. S. Toms, Ernie Baxter, Howard Goss, Andrew and Jonathan Urshan, Charles C. and U. L. Kirby, Stan Bean, Leonard Parent, Bro. Pair, Bro. Rabie and Bro. Rudd. (I do not know the first names of these last three men, though they were influential in mama's ministry.) In the mid-50's, Bro. Rudd came to Michigan for a conference. Mama and daddy invited he and his family into our home. She much enjoyed their visit and catching up on old acquaintances.

One of the pictures in mama’s photo album shows a baptismal service during that time. Surrounded by young people, she’s sitting on some rocks at the site of a broken dam. There are a number of pictures of other evangelists and Canadian Pentecostals of yesteryear. Newspaper clippings with her picture announcing evangelistic meetings are included and she mentioned other cities and towns like Cobaconk, Brockville, Kingston, Peterborough and Belleville. There was even an invitation to conduct services at an Indian reservation. Her face joyful in the remembering, she told us about attending camp meetings at Outlet Camp in Lansdowne. (In 1956 or 57, during a family vacation, she took us to see the Outlet Camp Ground – it was beautiful!)

After marrying daddy, she became a mama in the best sense of the word. She taught us to love the house of God and to make it our chief joy. She loved the ministry of the Word and kept notes and tapes of messages she heard by her own pastor and others. Even in her declining years, mama’s devotions included reading through the Bible at least once each year. The margins of her Bibles are always peppered with remarks and notes and references to additional Scriptures she studied relative to the one at hand. We often found her sitting in her favorite chair with her glasses perched on her nose – reading, studying and taking notes.

Once when my girls came into the house, she looked up and sighed, “Oh! Am I glad to see you! Come help me find my glasses! I can’t find them anywhere!”

The girls started giggling. Between chortles, they wheezed out, “Up there, Grandma!”

“Where?” She was sure they were not taking her request seriously. “Stop playing around!" she scolded, "I need them – there’s something I want to check out.”

Their laughter grew. Between gasps, with tears coming, they pointed to the top of her head. “Right there, Grandma.”

Mama reached up, and there, perched atop her head, were her reading glasses. She’d shoved them up there at some point and forgotten where they were. A red face and a sheepish grin soon merged into giggles and when I came in from the car, the three of them were in gales and had to explain it to me so I could join in.

In this, the week of Mother's Day, 2006, I remember Mama . . . with love.